


Í Tokuni

by Ulfrsmal



Category: The Last Kingdom (TV)
Genre: Biting, Blasphemy, Dom/sub Undertones, Frottage, Kissing, M/M, Old Norse, Oral Sex, PWP, Polyamory, Praise Kink, Teasing, Threesome, blowjob, poetic prose, sex in public places
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:53:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29538495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ulfrsmal/pseuds/Ulfrsmal
Summary: Perhaps the middle of the woods is not the best place to finally let his emotions run amok, Sihtric realises only after latching on to Finan’s neck; however, the handsome Irishman isn’t protesting, and so he decides to go on, for once utterly unaware of Uhtred’s greedy gaze falling upon them both…
Relationships: Finan/Sihtric/Uhtred of Bebbanburg
Comments: 8
Kudos: 11





	Í Tokuni

**Author's Note:**

> The title is [a song by Eivør](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PMf5okH8MME); it means “In The Mist” in Faroese.
> 
> The words not in English are translated in the End Notes.
> 
> This is completely unedited… feel free to point out any mistakes you find. Extra thanks to my New Friends for inspiration! Hope y'all enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it :D

Finan barely has time to groan when Sihtric mouths at his neck, the contact not rough by any means, but still firm enough for him to notice the boy’s sweet insistence. It is quite rare to have the usually calm and collected Sihtric so desperate for his touch; and so, Finan can bring himself to do nothing else aside from letting him have his fill of flesh and sweat.

“Sihtric, darling, love, do you know where we are?”

“The woods…?” Sihtric’s breath caresses his skin as he speaks – and God have mercy on Finan’s sinning soul, for he swears Sihtric sounds hoarser already, just like he always does when he’s so fired up that his unbound desires seem to drown both Finan’s _and_ Uhtred’s own.

“Yes, _a stór_ , the woods. Where we’re supposed to _not_ be.” Finan brings one hand up to the back of Sihtric’s neck, fruitlessly trying to still him; but Sihtric is far from feeling daunted by it, if the new kiss he gives to Finan’s neck is any indication. “Sihtric. _Please._ ”

To his credit, and aided by Finan’s hair curling into his half-tied hair, Sihtric heeds the warning and allows them both to keep walking towards the edge of the forest, where their little band has made an improvised camp for the night. Uhtred’s plan of leaving the children basically alone while he, Finan, and Sihtric go to gather dinner and firewood still doesn’t sit well with Finan; alas, there’s not a lot he could do after a very annoyed Stiorra rolled her eyes at him, not unlike how her father does. At least they’re well-armed. Sihtric has been giving them some basic training with daggers, and Stiorra has taken to it like a fish to water, although sweet Ælfwynn looked queasy when Sihtric walked away from the camp; she seems to have taken a liking to his quieter demeanour compared to Uhtred and Stiorra herself.

Now, though, Finan can hardly focus on anything but the way in which Sihtric’s arm brushes against his own as they walk. The boy is intentionally keeping himself close, Finan knows extremely well; much as they like to call Sihtric out for being just another shadow in the dark, he’s awfully good at letting his presence be known when it suits him, and he’s now truly aiming at being noticed. To Finan’s utter dismay, Sihtric gives him a sidelong glance, his eyelids flickering downwards when he looks at Finan’s mouth.

“God’s _sake_.” Finan curses; then he immediately crosses himself, annoyed that he let a Heathen get under his skin like this. “What do you want, Sihtric?”

“You.”

It takes a lot of self-control to not jump Sihtric’s bones right there and then. Finan can feel his heartbeat leaving the confines of his ribcage and travelling down to his crotch; he’d love to chide Sihtric for being so shameless, so suddenly similar to Uhtred, but he quickly finds he cannot. If he lets them go back to the improvised camp, they’ll meet back with Uhtred, who is always a handsome sight to behold; but the children will be there too, and there are some lines that Finan will absolutely never cross.

It’s one thing to hide how his hand works under his blankets in the dead of night, when everybody is asleep and he’s on guard-duty.

It’s another thing to let both his brazen Lord and their sweet boy love him out in the open.

By the time Finan lets go of the firewood in his arms and captures Sihtric’s mouth, they’ve just arrived at a little clearing in the woods, close to the forest’s edge yet still not close enough for the children to hear them. Sihtric immediately moans into his mouth, his clever tongue trying to push past Finan’s chapped lips to truly taste him. His eagerness is endearing; it’s also a welcomed change from the normally coy rogue. Finan cannot stop himself from placing his hands at either side of Sihtric’s neck, keeping him in place even when the boy starts to push away to breathe.

“Thought you wanted me…” Finan half-growls, half-whispers against the sharp line of Sihtric’s jaw. He keeps his volume intentionally low, for he knows that it’s one of the quickest ways to have their boy buckling into him, “Better make this quick, though. I can get Uhtred later, see if I can take guard-duty right before him…”

Sihtric emits an airy chuckle that lets Finan know exactly how awful he thinks his idea to be. Finan would take affront to that, but he can see a certain spark twinkling inside the boy’s beautiful eyes, and he knows it perfectly well. Too well, Sihtric would say; it’s the one thing that always gives his elation away to both Finan _and_ Uhtred, embarrassing him until all he can do is blush and melt in their strong arms. Uhtred always teases him, because he thinks it’s really adorable how Sihtric can go from confident to shy in the span of two seconds; Finan, however, rarely can do anything other than kiss Sihtric until their lips are red and well-bitten.

In many a way, Finan thinks as he allows Sihtric to claim his mouth again, it’s as though a strange role-reversal has happened tonight, for he’s the one starting to grow shy about doing these things so out in the open, whereas Sihtric only grows bolder with every passing heartbeat. He certainly is not the same shy little thing that depends on Uhtred to initiate most of their trysts; he nips at Finan’s lower lip and sucks on his tongue with fiery, yet still somewhat secret, intentions fuelling him on.

“I can make it quick…” Sihtric whispers dramatically, just like he did to Ælfwynn over dinner yesterday when Stiorra teased their boy for never cooking anything. Ælfwynn laughed herself half to breathlessness from how Sihtric had told her that, in truth, he’s a terrible cook who should never be allowed into any kitchens for anything other than food. “I don’t always have to drag things out, you know…”

“But you prefer it steady and drawn-out, don’t ya…” Finan whispers, allowing more of his natural accent to creep into his words just because he knows both Uhtred and Sihtric delight in how different his English sounds in comparison to their own.

He mustn’t wait for long to get a reaction, for Sihtric shivers, both hands going directly to either side of Finan’s waist, who allows himself to grin before giving Sihtric a scorching kiss. Sihtric downright _groans_ into his mouth, unceremoniously pushing Finan against the nearest sturdy-looking tree-trunk. Finan growls his warning, although he and Sihtric alike know it’s merely for show; he simply has a tendency to bark without biting to rile his two favourite Heathens up.

“I like it however you like it.” Sihtric replies without missing a single beat, both his hands flying to the front of Finan’s trousers without a sliver of shame reflecting on his angular, good-looking face.

There’s something sweet and spicy lacing Sihtric’s words, underlining his every syllable with more than the marked, Danish accent that Finan has quickly learnt to adore. Finan cannot quite place it, though; he’s much too busy with trying to unlace his sword’s belt, for Sihtric’s eager hands haven’t even taken into consideration that he cannot get at Finan’s cock without first disrobing him to an extent. Even as Finan chuckles, because he absolutely does _not_ giggle, at Sihtric’s adorable confusion, he knows he won’t allow their overeager boy to render him as naked as he was the day he was born; again, there are just certain lines that he cannot ever cross.

“Easy there…” He mumbles at Sihtric’s spluttered words. The boy is already past the point of total coherence, which is a good sign, given what they intend to do; but Finan cannot evade the pang of longing surging through him, for Uhtred is not here with them, and every touch becomes so much more vivid when the three of them are together. “You cannot get at my cock without getting this off…”

Sihtric moans something that sounds suspiciously like _ástin mínn_ , which Finan is still not completely sure is a positive thing to refer to him as, even though Sihtric isn’t the only Heathen who uses it at this point. Uhtred was initially almost reluctant to use it, but he’s taken to it at some point along the line of their newfound relationship and has never stopped muttering it. Finan is particularly proud of himself whenever he manages to time his strokes so that Uhtred’s orgasm hits him mid-sentence, because then Sihtric takes over, regardless of how gone he is, just so the phrase won’t stay half-unsaid for too long.

The sound of Finan’s still-sheathed sword hitting the moss and grass beneath their feet brings the Irishman back into the present, where he’s blissfully sentenced to deal with a very handsy Dane. Sihtric makes quick work of the leather belt around Finan’s cinched waist, utterly unfazed at how the Irishman admonishes him for caring so little about where it lands. Finan can only sigh, disbelief heavy and plain in his face, upon watching Sihtric descend to his knees. His gaze never leaves Finan’s own, either; their sweet boy learnt so quickly that Uhtred loves to watch them together that he’s unable to break out of the habit of giving their Lord a show even when it’s only him and Finan.

“You’re so eager today.” Finan’s voice is too low to be the thunderous tease that he intended it to be. The sound rumbles throughout his chest; Finan is sure Sihtric’s been able to feel it when he moved his hands upwards of his waist to get the dark, checkered cloth out of his way. “What’s gotten into you…?”

“Do you how hard it is to say no to Uhtred?” When Finan looks down to question why he would ever want to say no to Uhtred, he finds that Sihtric’s face is hidden from his view by his own bunched-up clothes. A groan leaves the back of his throat before he can control his own voice. Sihtric acts like he hasn’t noticed as he adds, his voice merely a rasp, “Too hard. He’s been wanting to have me for _days_ and I can only say no.”

“Because the kids are there?” It’s downright impossible for Finan to control either his voice or the motions of his hips when Sihtric unlaces and pulls his trousers just down enough to free his hardening cock. “Jesus, Sihtric…”

“Are you praying to me now? I’m flattered…”

“You’ve been spending too much time with Uhtred!”

Sihtric gives out a maddeningly sly laugh before leaning in to touch his lips to the very tip of Finan’s cock; he must support his weight more fully on the sturdy tree behind him to not immediately groan at the featherlight kiss. For someone who has no patience when he’s the one being teased, Sihtric is almost invariably _too_ ready to tease others; and isn’t that just rich? Finan makes a quick mental note to talk Uhtred into double-teaming their boy as soon as they have an available bed and no children in sight; see how Sihtric likes being held between their well-muscled bodies and teased until he doesn’t know if he wants less or more…

Sihtric moves down to mouth at the juncture where his crown meets his shaft. His lips are parted, which lets Finan have a scarce taste of what it feels like to be buried inside their boy’s warm throat. As much as Uhtred loves to have his cock suckled on, Sihtric was certainly no expert at the art before he’d started getting his fair share of practise on Finan too; and by the time he worked up enough experience to do it easily enough, he had both his Lord and his Irishman half-addicted to his mouth already. The only little detail preventing Finan from fully enjoying the ride is that he cannot listen to Sihtric’s enticing voice whispering things into his ear; something which he won’t ever admit gets him off faster than receiving oral sex from anyone.

He brings a hand down to Sihtric’s hair, trying his uttermost best to not disrupt the complicated hairdo; by now, he knows exactly how much time their boy invests in getting his unruly curls to obey him for long enough to slide the metal adornments from the tips of his locks to their very start. Finan is perfectly aware that Sihtric’s never, not even once, been angry nor annoyed at neither him or Uhtred for messing his hair up a bit during sex, but still. The last thing he needs is any of the children asking where they were for so long, and what happened to their clothes or hair along the way.

Sihtric moans around his head when Finan accidentally tugs harder than what he’d aimed at; the vibrations entice and tease on equal measures, prompting a groan to erupt forth from Finan’s opened mouth. It’s already quite hard to control the sway of his hips. He tries to shuffle his feet apart without Sihtric noticing it.

He should know by now that there is nothing that can escape Sihtric’s keen senses.

“You like this too…” Sihtric grins like the cat who got the milk, only half-hidden by Finan’s clothes – until the Irishman bunches them further up, because _God Almighty_ does he need to see every detail of this. Sihtric laughs quietly at his antics, “Let me…”

“You’re doing a lot already.” Finan replies, his voice unsteady and airy like it gets when he’s so turned on that it’s almost painful. He cannot say if the excitement is affecting his body as deeply as it is affecting his mind, but it matters not. The only thing that matters is that Sihtric loves to pleasure his Lord and his Irishman, and right now he’s hellbent on tasting the latter to not fall into temptation with the former. “Our good boy, our _a stór_ …”

Sihtric moans as though he can understand the Gaelic endearment. Finan smiles at him, unable to hide his happiness even with Sihtric’s eyes falling closed as he turns his full attention to the already hardened cock in front of him.

This time it’s Finan’s turn to moan aloud, for Sihtric wastes no time before licking a tight circle around his head. Finan lets his head roll back against the tree, its rough bark scratching at his scalp with all the delicacy that Uhtred exhibits when he’s been wholly wrecked; still, he’s thankful that he keeps his hair short enough to not have to deal with it getting stuck in the many tiny crevices in the wood, for that would be a far worse pain to deal with.

Sihtric’s actions offer the perfect contrast to the dire thought when he suckles at Finan’s cockhead like it’s his favourite treat. In many ways, it might actually be; their boy has never been shy about how much he loves to service them orally, although he did use to get exceptionally shy whenever Uhtred and Finan teased him about it. Finan smiles at the memory of Sihtric blushing between Uhtred's legs, the tip of his tongue still hanging out of his mouth to try and lick at the slit at the top of Uhtred's cock.

Finan runs his fingers through Sihtric's dark curls, caresses his cheekbone when the locks’ tips lead him there. Sihtric turns his head to one side like he desires nothing more than to be touched; he never lets go of Finan’s cock, even when the Irishman starts to caress the side of his face, lingering over the little scar across his cheekbone. Sihtric’s facial hair tickles his fingers in the best of ways when he directs his attention to their boy’s mouth, reverently touching the seam where Sihtric’s lips are so tightly closed around him.

“ _A stór_ …” Finan mumbles, not even wanting to pretend that he’s anything short of breathless. He can already feel how his lower belly is getting tied into a complicated knot; a tell-tale sign that he won’t be able to withstand this cruel teasing for much longer. They’re all loath to admit it, because the children are delightful when they’re not pestering them, but playing babysitters has shortened their intimacy by many a mile; hence why Finan feels about to burst at the seams. “Don’t tease, we _do_ need to get back soon…”

“Better make it quick then.”

Finan jumps in place at the familiar whispering at his ear, the newcomer’s English as pristine as any self-respecting Anglo-Saxon’s yet laced with hints of a Dane’s lilting accent. He can feel more than hear Uhtred’s laughter pressed against his neck; when their Lord takes Finan’s hand and brings it to his own crotch, he can feel that Uhtred is as hard as Finan is himself. A quick glance downwards shows him that Sihtric’s pupils are blown until his blue eye appears as dark as his brown one; quite an achievement, if Finan dares think of turning their boy on as such.

“How does his mouth feel, á _stin mínn_ …?” Uhtred whispers into Finan’s ear. His usually firm voice wavers between notes, more airy than raspy, although the effect is akin to the feeling of Uhtred’s beard scraping against the side of Finan’s neck. “Tell me about it…”

“Warm…” Finan half-growls, half-moans. Uhtred bites him as a reward for being such an obedient lover, not hard enough to bruise the sensitive skin, but just firm enough for Finan to moan slightly louder at the feeling. “I swear h-he… _fuuuckk_ … wants to… d- _devour_ me…”

Uhtred laughs quiet and dark against his neck, snaking an arm around Finan’s thin waist to better feel him tremble under Sihtric’s placid ministrations. The hand that Finan has on their Lord’s crotch quivers even more than the rest of his body, fruitlessly trying to dislodge Uhtred’s clothing enough to get at his cock. Their Lord bites him again, close to where Finan’s pulse is jumping wildly underneath his skin before bringing his own free hand downwards too, silently aiding Finan in his quest. Their Irishman lets out another loud sound when Sihtric takes more of him into his mouth, opening his throat to further accommodate him. Finan’s eyes fight to remain opened enough to stare at Uhtred’s face.

His gaze is affixed to Finan’s crotch, his lips parted and his pupils blown. Sihtric must have felt himself being observed, for he returns Uhtred’s stare; there’s a deep blush spreading through his factions, softening all those sharp angles in which Finan had once thought he could cut his own fingers with. Finan has no idea how their boy can be so shy yet so shameless at the same time; in his own mind, a person can only be one or the other. Sihtric must be the only man alive who’s mastered the art of regaling both his lovers with such an intricate, emotional design in his beautiful eyes.

“So good for him…” Uhtred mutters, smiling at Sihtric. The praise goes directly to their boy’s crotch, just as it always does. Finan cannot blame him for it; if there is one thing the three of them have in common, it is the acute, positive reaction they all have to being praised in bed. “Will you swallow him when he finishes? We need to go back, you can’t have it on your face…”

Finan is very vocal with his displeasure at that, simply because he quite enjoys the sight of his essence tainting either of his two loves’ faces, maybe even _both_ , while he revels in his afterglow. He completely understands where Uhtred is coming from, of course, and on a logical level, Finan even agrees with him; but the knowledge that he’s been deprived of sex for so long, and that he’ll have to go for even longer without one of his favourite acts, is torture. The sweetest kind of torture, yes, but torture nonetheless. And Uhtred – devilish, lovely, bold Uhtred – knows it. The bastard…

“ _Finan_ …” Sweet Mother of _God_ , Finan curses inside his mind; Sihtric’s voice has gone hoarse already. It always happens whenever he keeps either of their cocks warm in his mouth for very long; and it fries Finan’s brains every single time. “Give me it…”

Finan fights a losing battle with his own body, torn between his body’s need for release and not wanting the kids to be alone, and wanting to withstand Sihtric’s mouth to not be the one who comes the quickest. In the end, he roughly wraps his hand around Uhtred’s shaft and caresses him up to the head, engulfing it in his palm. Uhtred drowns a rumbling moan against the crook of Finan’s neck when his thumb brushes over the slit at the very top, spreading the translucid slick their Lord is already leaking profusely. Finan would laugh at how much Uhtred is thrashing about and holding on to his waist to not fall on his knees; but how could he call their Lord out, when Finan himself is feeling just as ready to let go?

Sihtric swipes his tongue in a tight little circle around his head, drags his lips over his frenulum on his way down, and sucks harder when he’s got Finan buried in his throat to the hilt. Finan almost doubles over from the pleasure. His vision goes white behind his closed eyelids. Undiscovered stars appear in his sights. He feels almost disconnected from his own body, floating in what must be one of the most intense afterglows he remembers ever having.

When he comes half-back to his senses, Uhtred is still devouring his mouth. His deft tongue has slid into him, and is now in the process of tangling with Finan’s own to taste him even more. Distantly, Finan can hear someone panting and moaning; a few more heartbeats pass before he realises all those sounds are coming from his own throat. His hips buckle forth violently, almost dislodging Sihtric from where he kneels.

Then it all becomes too much and he scurries back, against the tree-trunk, trying to get his cock to slide free from the warm confines of Sihtric’s mouth.

“Show me.” Uhtred says, or rather orders, to their desperate boy, both his arms curled possessively around Finan’s form to let him lean on Uhtred’s side instead of the rough bark. Finan hides his face in the crook of their Lord’s neck, dissimulating it as best as he can by thoughtlessly nibbling and kissing along his jawline. Uhtred moans at his actions, but doesn’t miss a beat as he adds, “Let us see how good you were to him.”

Sihtric trembles like a loose leaf in strong winds, his hands sliding fully off Finan’s body and resting on his own thighs instead. He looks almost like the most perfect picture of obedience… if not for the wild spark in his eyes signalling that he’ll rebel to obtain his own pleasure as soon as he can. Uhtred is instantly affected by the sight; and deeply so, judging from how his cock jumps in Finan’s grasp. The Irishman chuckles, because he’s much too breathless to give out a real laugh, and turns his gaze towards Sihtric too – let’s see if their sweet boy will follow through with that heated command…

To absolutely nobody’s surprise, Sihtric does as was requested of him, obediently catching Uhtred’s gaze before opening his mouth as wide as it was when it held Finan’s cock inside. There’s no trace of white as far as they can see, much as the declining sunrays insist on not giving them any proper illumination; thick mists will most likely appear long before morning comes.

Uhtred emits a sound that he’d want described as a hum, although both Finan and Sihtric can tell it’s a moan in disguise. He manoeuvres himself around until he’s sure he can free one hand without Finan falling over; then, he reverently rests two fingertips on the broad flat of Sihtric’s tongue. Finan knows from experience that there’s a slight give to it when you press down hard enough, because Sihtric is quick to bend without breaking for them. The vulgar sight alone makes his head spin violently; only claiming Uhtred’s mouth again calms his desire down.

Uhtred moans into him, his tongue curling around the tip of Finan’s own with an expertise that Finan and Sihtric have yet to achieve. Finan allows him to retreat only for long enough to breathe in. Then, he’s quickly back on him at full force, kissing and biting and _claiming_ him as greedily as he can bring himself while still reeling from the aftereffects of such a blindingly good orgasm. Uhtred moans again, the sound coming directly from the very depths of his throat. Finan takes it as a compliment.

Until he separates from their Lord and glances down.

“Greedy boy…” Finan brings a hand to Sihtric’s hair, caressing without tugging on the locks curling around his fingers as possessively as Sihtric’s tongue twists to lick Uhtred’s fingers. It eludes Finan that he’s in absolutely no position to accuse Sihtric of being too hungry, but Uhtred is quick to remind him with a sudden bite at his pulse-point. “ _Lord_ …”

“Why are you praying, _ástin mínn?_ Are we not good enough for you?” Uhtred’s voice has regained some of his usual teasing lilt, though he’s evidently a few well-timed strokes away from spilling all over Finan’s hand. Their Irishman smirks at the knowledge, satisfied and pleased that he’s been allowed to know Uhtred so intimately.

“I was callin’ for you…” Finan intentionally keeps his voice in its lowest register, aiming to rile both his Heathen loves up. Uhtred’s cock has been getting some action, but Sihtric’s still lays untouched in the dark, tight confines of his trousers. He deserves to be pleasured too; by words, if hands and mouths are denied to him. “… you should let our boy be touched too… _Lord_.”

Uhtred trembles more violently at the dark growl of his proper title. He’s always been weak, oh-so-weak, for both Finan’s deep voice and the way he keeps on addressing him by title even though he knows perfectly well he’s allowed to refer to him by name. It isn’t very common for Finan to combine that especially deep tone with Uhtred's proper title, and especially not in bed, because the effect could wane if overused. Thus, Uhtred’s cock now gives a treacherous jump, more of his essence leaking out of him.

Sihtric is on him in an instant, gently yet insistently nudging Finan’s hand away so he can have full access to Uhtred’s pride. Finan mumbles sweet nothings to the both of them, manoeuvring both himself and Uhtred so that his own back is against the tree and their Lord’s back rests flush against Finan's chest. Sihtric shuffles closer on his knees, his trousers getting even more marred by moss and dirt. Uhtred looks about ready to blurt out some well-selected teases at him; but then Sihtric engulfs his cock down to the very hilt, and their Lord dissolves into those deep moans that Finan loves so much.

“He’s so good for us, _a stór_ …” Finan whispers to Uhtred, his breath caressing his sweat-damp skin. Finan curls his arms around his middle, perhaps too eager to feel how Uhtred’s stomach quivers in time with his impending orgasm; alas, their Lord’s armour denies him the pleasure. Finan growls at that, making Uhtred moan anew, “ _Lord_ … let our boy have his fun too…”

“ _Finan_ … _S_ - _Sihtric_ …”

Their boy hums, or maybe even moans, around Uhtred’s cock. Finan is intimately acquainted with how absolutely delicious it feels; he smiles and kisses Uhtred’s jawline, moving to the spot behind his ear that he knows turns their Lord on so much. Sihtric opens his eyes then, looking sultrily up at Uhtred, who’s much too gone already to even notice him, so Finan nudges him gently, murmuring sweet nothings in Gaelic to him just because he can.

Uhtred catches Sihtric’s gaze and immediately moans something in their shared mother tongue, too slurred for Finan to fully understand it. The acute reaction from their Lord leaves him quite puzzled, even though he knows that Uhtred is always the loudest, and so he chances a lingering glance down the length of their Lord’s well-shaped body to spy at Sihtric’s actions.

His eyes are glazed over, shining more dull than aflame; there’s just so much lust within the dark-brown depth and so much care pooled inside the dark-blue one that Finan can almost feel a lesser orgasm taking over him. The sharpness they’re so accustomed to seeing in Sihtric’s eyes is gone by now, replaced by sheer desire. There’s a tiny, translucid strip left across the left commissure of his lips; a tell-tale sign of how he tried to swallow Uhtred’s essence down like he did with Finan’s but failed halfway through. Or perhaps he did it on purpose, the teasing bastard, because he know it riles both his Christian and his Heathen love up.

Sighing, Finan leans his chin on Uhtred’s shoulder, uncaring about the scrape of his armour against his beard, and moves a hand from their Lord’s waist to Sihtric’s hair. Their boy gives the most marvellous of whines, betraying just how desperate he truly is for his own release. Finan smiles down at him as sweetly as he can muster, gathering his thoughts before turning his head towards Uhtred.

It’s laughably easy to feed low-pitched Gaelic into his ear; especially when Uhtred is straddling the edge of madness already. He’s the one with the most ravenous sex-drive; and if these babysitting duties have been killing even Sihtric’s milder desire, their Lord must’ve been aching, _dying,_ to feel both of his dearly beloved men close to him like they are now. Finan uses that knowledge fully in his favour, interlacing the naughtiest slang he knows with the terms of endearment he uses most often for Uhtred, because he knows he’ll recognise them easily amongst the foreign words, and be fuelled by them.

Finan recognises the onslaught of Uhtred’s orgasm the very moment it starts. It always feels like their Lord is going through an earthquake, like the oceans have opened to swallow him whole and he can do nothing but fruitlessly try to resist it. Were it not for Finan’s arm curled around his middle, supporting almost his whole weight, Uhtred would have fallen over and toppled over Sihtric, probably getting a bit more than the barest hint of teeth Sihtric enjoys tantalising them with. There’s a scream fighting to be let out from the very depths of Uhtred’s throat, and they cannot let that fly, for the children might hear it due to the sheer volume of their Lord’s wild pleasure, so Finan brings his hand up from Sihtric’s hair and covers his mouth, still whispering Gaelic to him.

It takes Uhtred several moments to dissolve into whines, every note wavering up and down without landing in a key octave. Finan kisses his neck, wincing only slightly at the pain spreading through his fingers there where Uhtred unknowingly bit down on his flesh. The sensation is not unwelcomed, nor so poignant that it distracts him from the fact that he still needs to support Uhtred’s weight, lest he crushes Sihtric.

“I had my fun and you had your fun.” Finan whispers into their Lord’s ear, keeping his volume low enough so that their boy won’t be able to hear a word, “So help me get at our boy, poor thing hasn’t come yet… Look at him…”

Uhtred can barely open his eyes, but he does his best to obey Finan. He’s so pliant after he orgasms so hard he sees stars, so obedient and sweet… not at all like the stubborn, haughty Ragnarsson destined to become the Lord of Bebbanburg. Right now, he is simply Uhtred, their lover, the man Finan and Sihtric alike would do any and everything for. The sight is too delicious to resist; and so Uhtred earns himself a passionate, deep kiss from his Irishman, simply for fitting so well in between he and Sihtric, simply for being himself, for existing brilliant and _perfect_ in their lives.

“Let’s join him there, I bet he cannot stand…” Finan whispers into Uhtred’s ear, delighting in the chocked moan that comes from him.

Together, they go down onto their knees on either side of Sihtric, who can barely focus on them for long enough to read their intentions off their postures. Upon seeing him so ready to explode, so desperate and _vulnerable,_ Finan’s heart skips a full beat. A quick look at Uhtred tells him that he’ll have to be the one to lead for now, because their Lord is still as gone as Sihtric looks.

He quickly decides against issuing any sweet command, however; neither Sihtric or Uhtred look coherent enough to obey him. Therefore, Finan lunges forward, uncaring of how the ground scrapes against the lowest edges of his thighs, right over the hem of his boots, and grabs at Sihtric’s shoulders. Their boy emits a drawn-out, desperate moan upon feeling Finan’s tongue licking a broad stripe at the corner of his lips, lapping up all the leftover white from Uhtred’s orgasm.

It tastes just like Finan remembers it tasting whenever he drinks it directly from his cock. Half-salty, half-sweet, one-hundred-percent Uhtred. The headiest combination, one designed to make Finan and Sihtric alike lose their minds and feel their crotches burst into flames.

Sihtric turns his head too slowly, but Finan does not protest nor move away; easy as it would be to deny their boy this simple pleasure, he cannot find it in him to tease him. He’s had his orgasm, and Uhtred has had his own, too. Now it’s Sihtric’s turn, he thinks while kissing their boy deeply enough to have him moaning, unabashedly loud and uncontained, into his mouth. Sihtric’s tone changes soon enough, going from the airiest of whines to a long mewl that would travel directly to Finan’s crotch if his full attention weren’t so focused on their boy, instead of on his own body. Finan separates from his red-kissed mouth just enough to be able to look at what is going on elsewhere, eager to learn why Sihtric’s voice raised almost a whole octave.

His answer is found in how Uhtred has managed to undo their boy’s armour and set both its flaps aside to uncover the front of his trousers. Finan hums his approval when their Lord takes Sihtric’s engorged cock out of the damp confines of his trousers, his gaze immediately dropping to it. An unwelcomed pang of jealousy goes through him; it tends to happen whenever he’s not as hard as Sihtric is, because their dear boy is as well-built here as he is everywhere else. Judging from Uhtred’s tiny moans against the other side of Sihtric’s jaw, he’s thinking something along those same lines, too.

Unsurprisingly, Sihtric’s thighs give out quickly. Finan and Uhtred don’t hold it against him, though; they both know that he’s been in the same posture for too long for his muscles to not scream their disapproval. Sihtric manages to catch his weight on his elbows before the back of his head touches the grass beneath, but it was a close call. A much closer one than it would’ve usually been, Finan realises with the shadow of a startle surging forth.

He’s upon Sihtric in a moment, not fully on top of him but definitely slithering up his left side, trapping his protesting leg under his body. Sihtric’s half-bent knee brushes deliciously against Finan’s crotch; he cannot resist the urge to roll his hips against the delicate friction. He drowns a moan against the side of Sihtric’s neck, tongue coming out to lick at the dark blue ink there. It’s a bold gesture, one that Uhtred is much more likely to offer; and yet Finan quickly decides to not read too much into it, and to simply go with the flow.

Sihtric keens at the gentle kitten-licks and tiny kisses upon his flesh. Finan worries about his rising volume for a split second; then Uhtred moves to claim their boy’s mouth in a bruising kiss, swallowing his every sound down. Finan brings his right hand down to their desperate boy’s crotch, substituting Uhtred’s own and keeping the motions up when their Lord’s rhythm falters due to him kissing Sihtric. Uhtred’s eyes open for only long enough to give Finan a glazed-over look to show his thanks – and his _love,_ Finan’s heart soars.

He’s moved closer before he can think better of it, shamelessly claiming Uhtred’s mouth, his hand going down the length of Sihtric’s cock until it can wrap around its base. Uhtred’s own remains stroking the head of it in quick motions, his wrist twisting with the same playful grip he enjoys on himself. Sihtric moans, unable to open his eyes anymore; his arms tremble so much that Finan can see every muscle ripple underneath the taut skin. Were this any other person, he’d instantly grow worried and bring his free hand to the back of their head, just in case he needs to cushion their fall; but this is _Sihtric,_ and he’s strong enough to hold himself half-upright like this. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time they take advantage of his upper body’s strength in bed…

Uhtred must be doing something that Sihtric really, _really_ likes, for the boy keens again; thankfully, he’s so breathless that the only sounds coming out of him are loud pants for breath and half-choked moans. Finan runs his fingertips over his shaft, determined to bring their boy over the edge of madness. He’s been so obedient until now, so delicate in his ministrations, so attentive in every motion of his tongue and press of his lips… he’s already so desperate for release, he’s been so for a long while now, neglecting himself in favour of tending to Finan and Uhtred alike first. It will not do to leave poor Sihtric mid-arousal, hanging from a single thread of sanity, without coming undone. It would be cruel.

Finan exchanges a hooded look with Uhtred. Their silent communication goes a long way, as proves by how they turn their heads towards Sihtric at the same time, both nibbling and kissing at either side of his neck. The back of Finan’s hand brushes against Sihtric’s abdomen as it twists around his warm girth; he can feel how their boy contracts like he’s trying to stave off an incoming, powerful orgasm.

“Uhtred…” Finan is loath to betray Sihtric like this, but it must be done. He needs to find his release too, because first and foremost he deserves it; and also because he has a feeling that they’ve overextended their time away from the kids. A thin mist is already coalescing around them, a tell-tale sign of how much time has passed. “He’s trying to not spill.”

“Don’t do that.” Uhtred sounds more in control of himself now, although nowhere near as firm as he does when issuing commands to his household troops. He leans in closer to Sihtric; and Finan cannot see it, but he can hear their boy’s acute reaction. Uhtred must’ve bitten him quite hard, probably at the juncture between shoulder and neck, right at the edge of his clothes; it’s a spot Sihtric is weak for having roughly caressed. “If you feel like doing it, do it. Let us see you, hear you, _feel_ you.”

Sihtric turns his head away from Uhtred; Finan cannot say if it’s because his words are too much and turn him shy, or because he’s trying to give their Lord more space to bite into. Either way, the gesture brings him face-to-face with Sihtric, and he will never begrudge that. He leans in to kiss the corner of Sihtric’s lips, too aware that the boy will not be able to breathe if he kisses him on the mouth instead. Sihtric moans all the same, though; Finan smiles against his face and nuzzles into him. His beard must be dragging torturously over him, for Sihtric trembles more violently. His knee tugs upwards sharply, so sharply that it makes Finan groan.

“You’ll make me spill again, _a stór_ …” He practically growls as he moves closer to Sihtric’s ear to feed him more filthy Gaelic. He knows that Sihtric cannot understand a single word, but the mere act of being able to enjoy the grit and depth of Finan’s voice without having to think of any response must be a welcomed reprieve. Or, at least, that's how Sihtric speaks of it every time Finan questions him about it after the fact.

Finan grinds his hips down, suddenly conscious of his cock still being out in the open, and of Sihtric’s trousers undoubtedly being stained from his previous kneeling; he’ll most likely itch for a bath in less than a couple hours. The thought should disgust him, make him pull away from Sihtric’s body. He must truly be as much of a sinner as Father Beocca insists, for he does not move an inch away. The mental image of him tainting Sihtric’s clothes with his second release is a titillating one. He wonders if Uhtred is about to spill anew too, because he’s riding Sihtric’s other leg as desperately as Finan is on his side.

When Sihtric comes, a scream wants to leave his throat, as per usual; but he’s so deliciously breathless that he chokes on the sound, moaning out a long string of incoherent syllables instead. Finan whispers more phrases to him, using all the filthy Gaelic he can recall after not having used it in conversation for so long, riding him frantically. The faint sound of Uhtred’s voice at Sihtric’s other side confirms that their Lord is also regaling their boy with dirty sentences in their shared mother tongue, his hips griding down on Sihtric’s knee so hard that Finan worries he’ll bruise the tender skin of his cock and balls.

It’s pure instict to catch Sihtric when his body cannot support him anymore; the motion is well-practised by now, and made easier by how Finan only has to take on half their boy’s body-weight because Uhtred is supporting the other half. Sihtric holds on to them both, still reeling from his mind-blowing orgasm, one hand clutching the checkered cloth covering Finan’s arm in between shoulder and bracer, the other curled into Uhtred’s mane. Most of his hair has slipped free of the knot at the crown of his head, falling down his front without framing his face like Stiorra’s own mane does. Finan chuckles quietly to himself; he can already hear Uhtred’s voice asking him to re-do the knot and braids for him before they join the kids.

“Thank you…” Sihtric mumbles, his voice unsteady, wavering between notes. A quick glance between Uhtred and Finan tells them that they’ve both got the same longing, the same adoration, upon hearing Sihtric speak. “I… needed that…”

“We all did.” Finan leans in to kiss his cheek; his own desire overtakes him sharp enough to gently tilt Sihtric’s head towards him to kiss their boy proper. Sihtric moans; Uhtred echoes the sound with a whine of his own. “You fired me up _again,_ you little–”

“Not so little from what I can see.” Uhtred interrupts him easily, his dark gaze falling to Sihtric’s softening cock. Their boy blushes under the pointed stare, trembling as though he’s got no idea what to do with himself. _Adorable_. “I won’t ask more of him, though.”

Finan’s gaze finds Uhtred’s the moment he hears their Lord’s words. Confusion and the most sexual of hopes gleam in Finan’s eyes; he knows he needs another orgasm to calm down enough to be able to look his loves in the eye in front of the kids without growing instantly hard, but…

“Sit back. Relax.” Uhtred says to Sihtric, paying no mind to Finan’s tribulations, “I can take care of this insatiable Irishman on my own. You fired _me_ up too, _ástin mínn_!”

Sihtric laughs at the brazen admission, his smile showing that he’s got no shame left in him. Finan would chastise him for it – if he could find his own sense of decency somewhere within, that is. It seems that they’ve both been spending too much time with Uhtred; his shamelessness has rubbed off on them…

Oh, Finan realises with a groan that remains contextless for his two loves, but isn’t that last turn of phrase _lovely_ …?

He moves off Sihtric and towards Uhtred in an instant, his body knowing what to do on pure instinct. Uhtred protests upon finding himself face-up on the ground, his head so close to one of the logs for firewood Finan let go of earlier that it’s a miracle he didn’t hit himself on it. There’s a biting remark on the tip of his tongue, so Finan does his best to kiss it away, pulling on Uhtred’s lower lip as he slithers away for good measure. Under Sihtric’s rapturous gaze, Uhtred’s hands go to either side of Finan’s slim hips and slot him neatly between Uhtred's parted thighs and atop his hips. Finan doesn’t protest how their Lord holds him in place and ruts him downwards, grinding their cocks together.

Despite the groans leaving Uhtred’s throat and the unfaltering rhythm of Finan’s hips, there’s only so much that they can show to Sihtric in this posture; being pressed so tightly together means that their crotches are obscured from view. Sihtric doesn’t object, though; he merely looks on, his chest still heaving as he basks in both his own afterglow and the delectable view right in front of him.

Uhtred bites at Finan’s lips with no coordination at all. It’s the complete opposite of how he tends to be in bed. His control frays even more when Finan responds in kind, attaching his mouth to their Lord’s, not moving away even when they need to breathe. It feels much more natural to simply share the same air, enjoying one another and sparing occasional glances at Sihtric to make sure he’s still with them, present in their games even if he’s too spent to participate hands-on.

A particular roll of Uhtred’s hips makes Finan arch his back into him, growling his opinion of it all into Uhtred’s mouth. Sihtric slithers closer to them without a sound; he’s so unnaturally quiet that Finan doesn’t even notice him until a hand appears at the back of his trousers, startling half his fire away and making him falter in his rhythm. Their Lord laughs at him – Sihtric helps Finan retaliate to shut Uhtred up.

“Wish I could hold you both…” Sihtric whispers to them, probably more to bring them off than anything else; but when Finan looks him in the eye, he moans.

Sihtric’s intentions are genuine. He said naught but the naked truth. As naked as they all should be for these activities.

“You can’t…” Uhtred mumbles, sliding in and out of their shared mother tongue. All those moans and groans certainly don’t aid Finan when he tries to understand what Uhtred is saying, either. “You’re… small…”

“I’m as tall as you, _Lord_.”

Finan and Uhtred moan at the same time, prompted by Sihtric’s growl. They turn their heads to one another to kiss and bite again at their by now well-bitten lips, rocking their hips into the other’s. Sihtric, far from feeling coy at the acute reactions he’s earned, wastes no time and no air before repeating it. He changes languages often too, calling Uhtred by his rightful title of “Lord” and referring to Finan exclusively as “Prince”.

Finan would rather die upon orgasming than admitting that the one thing which made him release for the second time tonight was hearing both Sihtric and Uhtred call him “Prince” – one in English, the other in Norse.

Uhtred cannot hold on for much longer, either. Sihtric is still whispering to them, although Finan cannot pay enough attention to him to recognise a single word. All he can do is listen to the cadence of his voice, the lilt of his accent, the way he rolls his R’s and opens his lips to shape the vowels.

Lost in his daze, he barely registers it when he’s made to stand and redress himself, tucking his cock back into his trousers without even cleaning up the sticky mess he and Uhtred have done of him. A small jolt of pleasure runs down his spine upon seeing Uhtred do the same, a similar mess disappearing behind his clothes. Sihtric isn’t truly faring much better, although he shows it less acutely by now because he’s had the most time to recover after his release.

Uhtred hands him his fair share of firewood and takes the rest of it himself; out of the corner of his eye, Finan can see how Sihtric takes two dead rabbits by the ears. Finan frowns at their sight, unable to remember when those had materialised. Upon noticing his confusion, Uhtred laughs his usual boisterous laugh and bumps his shoulder against Finan’s because his hands are much too full for him to wrap an arm around the Irishman’s shoulders.

While they walk back to the children, Finan learns that Uhtred had caught both rabbits for their dinner and had been on his way to their camp when he’d come across their impromptu sex scene. The utter lack of shame in his words, in his posture, makes Sihtric smirk and blush at once.

To his two loves’ delight, that blush remains long after the smirk has disappeared, its abrupt exit prompted by Stiorra inquiring why do they all look so self-satisfied. Uhtred takes command of the situation before it can spiral out of control, telling the children that, if they don’t behave, he will order Finan to sing them a Gaelic lullaby. Finan would feel offended that the children consider him such a bad singer that they immediately behave; but it’s simply impossible to remain mad when Uhtred and Sihtric look at him with barely-contained adoration plain in their gazes.

**Author's Note:**

> A stór means “darling” in (modern) Irish. The only Gaelic translator I could find was (modern) Scottish…
> 
> Ástin mínn means “my love” in Old Norse (and in modern Icelandic).


End file.
